I'll Keep You By My Side
by iolre
Summary: A series of AU OctoJohn drabbles. Sherlock takes his little half-octopus friend with him to boarding school. Cute, happy, light, with minimal angst.
1. Impossibilities

A/N: So this is a (very late) birthday present for my absolute favorite beta ever. This is going to be one of a series of drabbles/ficlets in the same Universe with the same octo!John. Because I think it's adorable. So.

Happy (late) birthday Dreig~!

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Sherlock never told anyone why he went down to the shore every day, nor why he insisted on spending as much time possible at their beach house. Mummy didn't question him, she never did. Mycroft gave up after several lines of questioning led to dead ends. Sherlock knew it didn't end there, knew that Mycroft had him followed, but he had years of experience at avoiding followers and lost his tail easily.

He scrambled over the rocks, a picnic basket of sorts held in his hand. Originally the rocks had scared him, but months of climbing their jagged peaks every day had made him far more confident. Today, however, he climbed with a heavy heart. It was his last day at the beach house. Tomorrow he was going to be sent off to a boarding school and would not be able to come back for many months.

Finally he climbed over the last peak, and his face broke out into a wide, unabashed smile as he saw what he sought. Lounging on a rock about fifteen feet was a blond-haired teenager just about Sherlock's age, maybe a year younger. There was something unusual about this teenager, however - from his waist down, there were no legs - just tentacles. He was practically half an octopus. "John!" Sherlock called, waving as he darted over.

"Sherlock." John's face broke into the same easy smile that Sherlock gave, blatant pleasure at seeing the other teenager coming his way. John slid off of the rock and swam closer to his friend, stopping so that he could pull himself out of the water. He couldn't do it for long, couldn't risk drying out, but it was easier to sit with Sherlock when he was completely out of the water.

John was shorter than Sherlock, a little over five feet, although he insisted on pointing out to Sherlock that he had not reached his full growth. Sherlock, who was well on his way to six feet in height, always smirked and teased the other boy. John would huff and then wrap his tentacles around Sherlock and tickle him until the taller boy begged for mercy between laughs and giggles. Then Sherlock would complain and point out how John had an unfair advantage because he had eight feet and Sherlock only had two.

"You look upset," John said, the smile replaced by a worried frown. He reached out and put a hand on Sherlock's thin arm.

"I leave tomorrow," Sherlock said by way of explanation. He watched John's face carefully for a reaction, his eyes glancing down at the thin, rough hand on his arm. John was a conundrum, a puzzle that endlessly fascinated Sherlock. For one he was a half-human, half-octopus creature that never should have existed in the first place. He was also extraordinarily fond of Sherlock and all of his eccentricities, putting up with whatever experiment Sherlock wanted to run.

Sometimes, when it was a calm enough day, John would take him swimming. Sherlock had learned how to hold his breath for two minutes and John showed him some of the wonders underneath the water. It was rarely peaceful enough for them to do so, but Sherlock treasured the time immensely.

"For how long?" John asked, breaking into Sherlock's thoughts. Sherlock scuffed at the rock, a slight scowl on his face.

"At least a year. Probably more." They lapsed into silence, and Sherlock stared at the ground, unable to bear what he might see on John's face. They had never been separated so long, never in the five years they had known each other.

"Can I come with you?" John's voice was quiet, almost tentative, and Sherlock quickly looked up, startled. Out of all the reactions he had speculated, that had never come up. John loved the sea. It was in his blood, it was his home.

"I - I don't know."

"You're stuttering!" John giggled.

"I am not!" Sherlock huffed. He hadn't stuttered since he was twelve. A childish habit that, at sixteen, he had grown out of. He thought. "You - you're - you!"

John was clutching onto the rock, he was laughing so hard. Sherlock sat hard on another bit of stone, his thin arms crossed petulantly over his chest and his bottom lip stuck out in a pout. Peeking at his friend, Sherlock was surprised to see John watching him with a fond expression. No one looked at him like that, except for John. Everyone else was sharp exasperation, irritation, and even anger.

The little half-Octopus was different. John was all smiles and fond looks, warmth and cool, open oceans. He got exasperated with Sherlock sometimes, but it was always soft-edged and comforting, never jagged and harsh like everyone else treated him. Sherlock craved it, loved spending time with the other boy. It was the only reason he was seriously considering John's proposition.

"I don't know how I could take you," Sherlock admitted in a quiet voice.

"I could make myself small and you could put me in your luggage," John suggested, shifting so that he slipped back into the cool water with a soft 'plop'.

"You can do that?" Sherlock eyed him incredulously. "That's impossible."

"Remember when we first met?" John pointed out. "You told me I didn't exist. You spent like two months convinced I was a figment of your imagination."

"Two months, thirteen days, two hours, and thirty four minutes," Sherlock said absently, and then the tips of his ears turned crimson.

"Good to see you kept track," John replied with a grin. Sherlock blinked, surprised, watching as John shrank down until he was just over twenty centimetres tall. He immediately swung over closer to where John was clinging to a rock, extending hand until the small octopus could grasp it with his two hands and swing himself so that he was sitting firmly in Sherlock's broad hand. It was the first (and possibly the only time?) Sherlock was glad that his hands were so large.

Sherlock lifted the small creature so that John was even with his face. There was a smirk on John's face, and as Sherlock moved him closer, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's nose. Startled, Sherlock jerked back, although he was careful to not drop John as he moved. Instead he ended up sitting heavily on a jagged rock, wincing as it dug into the flesh of his behind. "What was that for?" he inquired.

"Can we go home now?" John asked eagerly. "I've never seen the inside of your house before." He wrapped his tentacles about Sherlock's fingers briefly before surging up his arm. Holding still, Sherlock waited until John was settled on his shoulder, a tentacle or two wrapped about his neck and one of John's hands wrapped in Sherlock's stray curls.

Sherlock tilted his head the slightest amount to nuzzle at John, returning the small amount of affection shown earlier. John rewarded him with a kiss to his ear, a beaming smile on his face, before he tugged impatiently at Sherlock's curls. "I can't stay out of the water forever, you know," he chided the taller man. "Let's go!"

Obediently Sherlock went, his little octopus pirate keeping up a running commentary the entire trip.


	2. Let Me Be With You

A/N: A continuation. ^_^ Set a few days later. Just cute, fluffy OctoJohn. As usual, you can find me at my tumblr (same username) for previews/updates/rambles/track my progress!

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Sherlock sighed as he opened the door and slunk into his small dorm room. The day had been as boring as he had feared, and even the sight of the eager little half-octopus bobbing in an aquarium did little to make him smile. He flopped onto the sofa, sprawling his lanky body over the battered furniture. It wasn't long before he heard the top of the tank slip off and the wet squelch of John's tentacles as he slid over the floor and climbed up the sofa.

Still damp, he crawled up onto Sherlock's chest, forming a large wet patch on his stomach. Sherlock cracked open an eye to see the little blond-haired half-octopus staring fiercely at him, arms crossed over his bare chest and a scowl on his face. "Sherlock," John said sternly.

"Mm?" Sherlock hummed noncommittally, attempting to come across as innocent. Ignoring John never did put him in the best mood, and he had been gone all day. He opened his eyes fully, a twinge of guilt in his chest coming completely alive and threatening to consume him. It wasn't John's fault that Sherlock had been gone all day, that he had had to deal with insipid professors and even stupider students. How they lived, he had no idea.

Gently he scooped up John with one broad hand, bringing him up to his face and lifting his head so that he could press a gentle kiss to the blond hair. "I'm sorry."

"How was class?" John asked eagerly, taking the excuse to snuggle up in the crook of Sherlock's neck, He kept his arms on Sherlock's cheeks, and was so close that Sherlock went cross-eyed when he attempted to look at him.

"Boring," Sherlock retorted. "I don't know how they make it through the day, as imbecilic as they are."

"Sherlock," John said with a slight frown. He withdrew slightly and Sherlock winced. "Not everyone is as smart as you." A small finger tapped Sherlock's noise pointedly. "When you call the rest of the world stupid, you're calling me stupid, too."

"You're not as stupid as the rest of them," Sherlock said, not helpfully. A wet, slimy tentacle slid into his ear and Sherlock yelped. "John, you do know you're different."

"Still, Sherlock," John murmured, his voice so small Sherlock could barely hear. He seemed conflicted, emotions fighting for dominance on his tiny little face. "How will you make any friends if you're so antagonistic?"

Sherlock pulled back slightly, a hand coming up to rub the wetness out of his ear now that the tentacle had withdrawn. Suddenly it made sense - and the guilt intensified. Sherlock had dawdled on the way home, bored and aggravated after too many hours of listening to pointless people drone on about pointless things. And John had been worried that Sherlock had met someone else and would not be coming back. "I don't need any friends," he told John. "I have you."

Something seemed to clear in the little half-octopus's expression, and a wide smile lit his expressive face. "Can I take a bath?" he asked eagerly. Although Sherlock's dorm room was small, he had insisted that Mycroft splurge and allow Sherlock a single with a bathroom solely for him. Not only was the bathroom solely for his use, but it had a bathtub big enough for John to return to his full size. Sherlock would never say it (not without risking a tentacle in his ear), but there was an advantage to John being smaller than him - John could stretch out and bask in the bathtub by himself and still not fill it up.

"Of course," Sherlock said with a smile.

"Will you come with?" John looked at him, allowing his lower lip to puff out in a pout. Sherlock lifted an eyebrow. Since John was an octopus, and therefore didn't wear clothes, it wasn't like there would be something Sherlock had never seen before (although that would also apply if John was human, since Sherlock was also male).

"As long as you don't distract me," he said finally. A few droplets of water landed on his nose, and he narrowed his eyes at the playful little creature as he quickly skittered down the couch and headed towards the bathtub.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, just loud enough for Sherlock to hear.

"Coming, coming," he said with an exasperated sigh. Last time John had attempted to turn on the taps had ended badly, and he didn't want any harm to come to his little friend. Although lately Sherlock was starting to wonder if John was more than a friend. The gentle affection, the warm tenderness that John regarded him with - if he had been human, Sherlock might have thought that John liked him. But he was bad enough with human emotions, and he could not even begin to speculate what the societal customs were like for John's species. If there was a species. John was the only one of his type that Sherlock had never met. Was it possible that John was as alone as he was?

The little octopus was standing at the edge of the tub, tapping a tentacle impatiently on the side of the tub as he crossed his arms and stared pointedly at Sherlock. Shaking his curls, the darker-haired teen walked over and flipped on the faucets, checking the temperature before stopping up the tub and allowing it to fill. With a delighted sigh John slipped into the water, growing in size until he reached his full height.

Sherlock grabbed the nearby stool and settled next to the tub, feeling a bit silly. John crossed his arms on the side of the tub, watching Sherlock with an eager, fond expression. "What are your classes like?"

"Boring," Sherlock retorted. "Tedious." His fingers were on his long knees, and the stool was short enough to make sitting awkward. He shifted so that his knees were pressed against the tub, equal with John's hands. He rubbed his thigh unconsciously, trying to come up with something that wouldn't make John's eyebrows shoot up into his sandy hair.

"You must have learned something important," John said, tilting his head to the side. His smile was boyish and adorable, and it made something in Sherlock's stomach flutter. "What about biology? Did you learn anything new? We could do an experiment!" His grin widened and Sherlock felt his cheeks start to heat.

Was this what normal people felt like when they liked someone? If so, Sherlock would indeed prefer that they took that back right now. As soon as physically possible. He snapped his mind back to the present and shifted slightly so that he was closer. "Er. There was this lecture on cell replication, but I don't have the proper equipment…"

"Could Mycroft get it for you?" John asked. "We could set up a mini laboratory in your bedroom!"

Sherlock grinned, caught up in John's happy demeanour. The small half-octopus was watching him intently, following his movements as Sherlock shifted again. "I could manipulate him into buying me a few things."

"If you must," John said with a mock-dramatic sigh. He shifted in the tub again, his tentacles making soft splashing noises as he moved slightly closer to Sherlock. The air was electric, and Sherlock was hypnotised by the ocean-blue eyes boring into his. There was something between them, something warm and charged and on the edge, ready to tip either way. "Sherlock," John whispered quietly, his eyes flickering between Sherlock's eyes and his lips.

Sherlock swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry at the way John said his name. It was wrong. Wasn't it? John wasn't - wasn't human. But did that matter? Was it more important that he - John cared for him, he cared for John. That was what mattered. Tentatively he leaned forward, bringing up a hand to card through John's hair, cupping the back of his head and drawing him closer.

The moment their lips touched, it was like an electric spark raced through Sherlock's body. His eyes fell shut and his lips moved against John's, the other boy slipping a hand into Sherlock's curls to tilt his head slightly. Sherlock gasped into John's mouth, his lips parting to allow John's tongue into his mouth. They kissed slowly and sweetly, mouths moving against each other's for a few short minutes.

Panting, Sherlock pulled back, his cheeks flushed and his eyes wide. John watched him with a shy smile, the faint pink on his cheeks barely able to be seen over his slightly darker skin. They maintained eye contact for a few moments, hands falling until they were twined together on Sherlock's thighs, smiles on both teen's faces. "So," Sherlock said, feeling completely lost for words.

John smiled and squeezed Sherlock's hand. "Yes," he said.

"Yes what?" Sherlock asked, dumbfounded.

"Yes I'll be your boyfriend." John's eyes were twinkling, and he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's lips.

"Oh," the dark-haired teen said. "Oh."

John laughed, a smile on his face. "Yes."

Sherlock's lips quirked up in a smile in response, and he squeezed John's hand before letting go of it. "Hand me the shampoo," he said. "I'll wash your hair for you." The warmth on John's face warmed Sherlock's heart, and he knew then and there that he would do whatever it took to keep John with him, forever and ever.


	3. We'll Walk Together

Final installment of this series, just a series of cute little drabbles. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!

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John watched with mild amusement as Sherlock sorted his socks, ensuring that each pair was facing the direction he wanted, grouped accordingly to his sock index. They were moving into their new home, hopefully their only home. Sherlock had graduated from college just a few months ago, and Mycroft had finally agreed to allow Sherlock access to his bank accounts. John was certain that the crafty elder Holmes brother was keeping an eye on Sherlock's purchases.

He tried not to giggle at what Mycroft thought of Sherlock buying the variety of bathtubs and other water-based receptacles that now lived at 221B. John couldn't stay out of water long, and when he did, he often got water everywhere. Mrs. Hudson, their unusually tolerant landlady, did cluck and shake her head over the sodden carpets and muttered about mold (which she quickly regretted, for Sherlock's eyes lit up at the thought of a new experiment).

"You've switched that pair three times now," John remarked casually, floating in his bathtub right next to Sherlock's narrow bed. Since they couldn't sleep together, not in the usual sense, Sherlock had rigged up some odd bed/tub hybrid that allowed Sherlock to sleep above water while John slept in it. They often slept holding hands, twined together in the way that they could be.

"I knew that," Sherlock snapped peevishly. His hands were shaking, and John's face softened, sympathetic.

"Come here, love," John murmured, wishing he could get out of the tub and pull Sherlock over. Having tentacles was so inconvenient sometimes. Sherlock turned and walked over, dropping to his knees so that John could pull him in for a hug and a brief kiss. "You're nervous, aren't you?"

"Of course I'm not." Sherlock looked affronted at the very idea of him being nervous.

"Your mouth says no, your face says yes. You might want to work on that, love," John teased.

Sherlock swatted at him, but the scowl on his face slipped, allowing a smile to brighten John's mood. He wrapped his arms around John's shoulder, pressing his head into the crook of the half-octopus' neck, breathing in his scent. "I'm going to be fine." Sherlock's voice was muffled, and while John completely believed that Sherlock would be fine, he also was certain that Sherlock was not one that agreed with that assumption.

"Yes, you are," John said firmly, kissing Sherlock's curls. "It's not like it's a proper interview, anyway. Mycroft has arranged it."

"Ugh," Sherlock muttered. "Mycroft."

"Yes, Mycroft," John chided. "Sherlock, you're amazing. Just - just try not to get punched, yeah? You keep the first-aid supplies too far away for me to get to them."

"You're not a doctor, John," Sherlock pointed out. "Besides, they're just testing me to see if I would work as a consultant for them. I don't think I'll be in any danger." He paused, frowning. "Would you like it if I moved them closer? I wasn't certain if you knew how to use them."

"What do you think I do while you're gone?" John shrugged, releasing his partner, although Sherlock did not let go. Carefully John ran a hand soothingly up and down Sherlock's back. "I like when you get new books."

"I could take you shopping with me," Sherlock mused absently, and smiled when John's face lit up. "You could ride on my shoulder, in my coat collar."

"We'd have to modify it a bit." John looked at the thick wool coat with a hint of suspicion, and Sherlock snorted.

"I believe I would be amenable to such a suggestion." Sherlock shifted and kissed John sweetly, tenderly, and the small half-octopus lost himself in the feelings of being so close to the one he loved.

Finally John pulled back, breathing quickly. "You have to go, Sherlock, or you're going to be late." His eyes flickered to the clock.

"I'll text you." Sherlock pressed a chaste kiss to John's lips before grabbing the offending coat and swirling out the door in a wave of drama. John could barely suppress a chuckle from where he was floating in his sleeping tub. He doubted it would be a habit Sherlock would ever grow out of.

John spent the hours Sherlock was gone floating about in his bed, perusing the pile of books that he had made Sherlock put next to him when they had arrived. Most were interesting, consisting of mysteries or thrillers interspersed with true-crime novels, or books about forensics or criminal psychology or whatever had caught Sherlock's mind when he bought them. Sherlock was going to be a consulting detective, John was sure of it. That was why he was meeting Detective Inspector Lestrade today, to see if he could manage it.

It had been Mycroft's idea, after Sherlock graduated from Uni and then got kicked out of his first job (research assistant) for blowing up the men's loo. John had helpfully pointed out that he had assisted Sherlock in concocting the chemicals required and earned himself a steely Holmes glare. Sherlock had considered it brilliant, and the smile that he had given John had warmed his heart for weeks.

It helped, sometimes, when Sherlock was gone, to be able to remember when Sherlock smiled. When he curled up with John, hands twined together, and they talked. Sometimes about silly things, like whether a ninja would beat a pirate. Sometimes they talked about more serious things, like where they were going, what John would do, what Sherlock would do. Their hopes and dreams, their wishes and wants. For some reason Sherlock let his guard down around John, and John reciprocated as best as he was able to.

John was dozing when he heard the door slam open, heard Sherlock bounce excitedly up the stairs before darting into 221B and then into their bedroom. "John!" he shouted, practically vibrating with excitement. "I'm going to be a consulting detective! Lestrade's agreed to take me on!"

Eagerly Sherlock leaned down and captured John's lips with his own, threading a hand into the soft hair at the nape of John's neck. The kiss was warm and tender, morphing quickly into heated and enthusiastic, Sherlock's glee showing in the way he moved, how he nibbled on John's bottom lip, sucked softly. By the time he pulled away, both men were panting, and John had an arm wrapped around Sherlock's shoulders.

"I'm proud of you," John said honestly. He was distracted when the doorbell rang, and Sherlock strode confidently to the door before opening it and quickly paying for the delivery that had arrived.

"Mycroft," Sherlock said with a wide grin, flashing the credit card at John. John shook his head, amused. The taller man extended his hand towards John, and the half-octopus immediately shifted into his smaller form before crawling eagerly up Sherlock's arm. Sherlock led them out to the main room, taking off the cover of the smaller tub near the low-sitting table before gently placing John in the water.

John expanded back to his full size and smiled warmly at his partner as Sherlock set up the take-out and required utensils. Sherlock refused to eat with chopsticks, no matter how many times John tried to teach him - he claimed that he was simply storing brain power for more important situations, but John was sure that Sherlock simply couldn't grasp the concept.

"You're worried I'll leave you behind," Sherlock said after they had been eating in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. "That I won't have any time for you."

John stared at his food for a few moments. He hadn't realized until that moment that he had been thinking exactly that, wondering where his new place would be in Sherlock's life. The man was undoubtedly brilliant, and would be in high demand. How would he feel, shackled to John's hip? Even after all the remodeling he had done for their new home. "Yes."

Sherlock sat down his utensils and shifted so that he was face to face with John, so close that they were breathing the same air and John was nearly dizzy with arousal. "You came with me, to school," he started, words slow and hesitant. "John, I love you, and although I love my Work, I picked you. The work found me, picked me, not the other way around." Sherlock kissed him sweetly, tenderly. "Besides, with all the knowledge you have gathered, you might be less dull than the rest of the population," he teased softly. "I could always text you while on cases for your opinion."

John slipped a hand across the table, and Sherlock took the hint, taking his hand and twining them together. Although Sherlock was rarely emotional, John loved it when he was. When Sherlock would bare his soul, be honest and open, and lose the facade that he attempted to portray to the outside world. "I love you too," John said finally, squeezing Sherlock's hand. They ate quietly, quickly, and then sat together, as close as they could be, watching some silly show on the telly.

Sherlock got shouty and scolded the host for not noticing obvious things, but John was not watching the show. He was watching Sherlock, watching the man he loved, the man who thought he shone so dully but was instead a gem waiting to be discovered.

John knew things would be tough, sometimes. He would feel unappreciated, ignored, and Sherlock would get frustrated, get distracted. He would make promises to text John and not keep them. John would promise things and forget. But it worked, the two of them, in some strange sort of way, and John felt confident that they had the rest of their lives unfurling in front of them.

It was a path they would walk together, hand in hand.


End file.
